| Thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
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| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
|
| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
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| And for every day yet to come
|
| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
|
| They wandered over drugs and alcohol
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| With the memory of what it’s like to really have a soul
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| Opposite sides of the track, same suburb
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| Strangers turned friends, then saviours turned lovers
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| And he scared her a little bit
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| Never did quite understand too clear her fear of the intimate
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| But she scared him a little more
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| Been searching for so long, afraid he might have found what he was looking for
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| She wasn’t sure at first
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| Cause she’s learnt that when you play with fire that you might get burnt
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| But somewhere between the cigarettes and late night TV
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| She found a reason to believe in what might be
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| It’s like hazel-eyed thinkers seek shelter from the storm
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| Clever brunette likes to read and stay awake until the break of dawn
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| Just a mother’s son and a father’s daughter
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| Tryna build some paradise within a life of disorder
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| And it got deep, he was living for that couple of minutes
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| After they kissed and he could still taste her lips on his
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| But this is all just a little bit much for me
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| How’d some drunken fun turn into a love story?
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| Ain’t it funny how time flies? |
| A few months can feel like a lifetime
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| So caught up in the game, he don’t even realise
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| That he’s watching from the sideline, complacency’s taking it’s toll
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| Now each day that fades, watch the flame turn cold
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| They never fight, too afraid of what might get said
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| Instead, silence, screaming for help under a breath
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| Sharing a cold bed and some silent phone calls
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| It’s scary how quickly the rise can turn to fall
|
| Until the day arrived («I don’t really know how to say this but…
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| «) took it with a smile
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| But on the inside his world turned black
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| Moments running through his mind
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| And if he could, then he’d take it all back
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| Now he can’t sleep, but stays awake, dreams of better days
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| When he wrote her love letters and the weather didn’t seem so grey
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| Business as usual, her coping mechanism
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| Finds comfort in the fact that others still find her beautiful
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| And as the seconds turn minutes, turn days, turns weeks
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| Lovers revert to strangers, they don’t even speak
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| The king of the blues, the queen of the street
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| Now the kingdom lies in ruins, break-up songs on repeat
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| Now he misses her touch and the sound of her voice
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| Every day he wakes up wishing she’d made a different choice
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| Another failed attempt at capturing the beauty
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| Till he finds himself home alone listening to «shhh»
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| Co-authors in this story, the first chapter’s written
|
| But you’ve got to wonder if it’s really finished
|
| Co-authors in this story, the first chapter’s written
|
| But you’ve got to wonder if it’s really finished
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| Thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
|
| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
|
| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
|
| And for every day yet to come
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| Thank you for this day, thank you for days past
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| And for every day… |